Season of Blood

by Jeri Westerson

  The abbot’s sedate steps came up behind him once more. ‘I never meant to offend you,’ he said.

  Crispin turned to face him. ‘You did not. I never meant to give you that impression.’

  He sighed. ‘I am a … blunt man, Crispin. I take a problem and lay out my assessment, point by point. That is why I was much favored to travel to Rome. My logic has always been appreciated by the cardinals. My dispassion much prized.’

  ‘And your monks here, too, appreciate your stoic protection.’

  ‘I have always thought so. Now … I am not so sure.’

  ‘You mustn’t take this murder so personally. There was a specific reason for it and it had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I wonder. I am responsible for all the souls within these walls.’

  ‘You have been at your charge for only a few years but I have been at mine for over a decade. And I tell you, this had nothing to do with you. Ease your mind on it.’

  ‘I trust your judgment. You are wise in this.’

  ‘Judgment I have. Wisdom … well.’

  ‘Master!’

  Relief flooded Crispin’s heart when he heard the voice of his apprentice. He turned gratefully and saw him rush forward. ‘Jack. Thank God. Is Wynchecombe well?’

  ‘I have much to say, but gird yourself. For here he comes.’

  Not only was Wynchecombe pushing his way forth, he was followed by the other two sheriffs. ‘It’s a nightmare,’ Crispin whispered.

  They made straight for him.

  He bowed but Walcote waved him off. ‘None of that. What is this, Guest?’

  ‘Another monk murdered, my Lord Sheriff.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and we have the culprit in chains.’

  He looked to Jack before squaring with Walcote. ‘The culprit?’

  Wynchecombe moved in, thrusting his thumbs into his belt. ‘Yes, that damnable monk from Hailes. He was the one after me. Almost got me, too, if it hadn’t been for this young lad of yours.’

  Again, Crispin looked at Jack. The boy’s pale skin flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘And the whoreson confessed to killing that monk that brought you the relic,’ Wynchecombe went on.

  ‘Brother James?’ He cast his glance toward the body on the floor, covered with a sheet.

  ‘What? Him? No! The other one. The first one.’

  ‘I see. And did he say why?’

  ‘For the love of that damnable woman!’

  ‘Katherine Pyke?’

  ‘Pyke? No, Whitechurch.’

  ‘She isn’t Sybil Whitechurch or Katherine Woodleigh. She’s Katherine Pyke.’

  ‘What do I care what her damn name is? He killed for her.’

  Crispin blinked with confusion. ‘What of the monk at Hailes? The murdered one.’

  Wynchecombe shook his head. ‘He will not confess to that one. Said he found him dead.’

  ‘He did not kill Brother Edwin?’

  ‘So he says. Did he kill this one?’

  ‘No time,’ Jack cut in. ‘He couldn’t have and found you, too.’

  Wynchecombe snorted. ‘Of course he could have! He murdered this monk and followed your friends right to me!’

  Jack slapped one hand into his other. ‘How could he slay this monk, steal and hide the relic, and then go after me without my seeing him? I was looking all about for someone following me. Don’t you think I would have noticed a starched white Cistercian on my tail?’

  ‘The lad is right,’ said Crispin, rather proud of the boy for his logic and for standing up to the former sheriff. ‘And he would have been noticed within the cloister. Surely no Benedictine brother would have left out having seen him.’

  ‘Well, then … who did kill him?’

  Crispin glared.

  ‘Oh, here it comes again. Won’t do your Christian duty unless you are paid your thirty pieces of silver.’

  ‘Thirty? If only that were so.’

  ‘See how the greed bites into him,’ said Wynchecombe to his compatriots.

  Walcote and Loveney nodded sagely, eyeing Crispin with disdain.

  I don’t have to take this. ‘Then I leave it to you, my lords.’ He bowed low and started to stalk away.

  ‘Hold, Guest!’ cried Loveney. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘My lord armorer accuses me of the sin of greed, merely for requiring my just compensation for my work. Do you not expect to be paid to repair a breastplate or a poulaine? My results are ethereal, not something to be held in the hand, yet they are nonetheless just as valuable. But as you are plainly not willing, I shan’t stay.’

  ‘Dammit, Guest, you are much too hasty. This is Westminster Abbey. Isn’t it your obligation to take on such an investigation? I mean, you are friends with Abbot William, are you not?’

  Crispin glanced toward the quiet abbot standing in the shadows. The man stepped forward, regal in his bearing as he bowed slightly to each man. ‘As it happens,’ said the abbot, ‘I think it fitting for the king’s servants to foot the bill.’

  ‘What?’ said Loveney. ‘Us?’

  ‘Well, it’s only proper.’

  Wynchecombe laughed. ‘Forget it, boys. He’s got you. He’ll always get you. He’s a sly one is Master Guest.’

  ‘But I’m confused,’ said Loveney. ‘Just what was supposed to have been stolen?’

  ‘The Holy Blood of Hailes,’ said Crispin.

  The sheriffs stared at him, mouths agape. Crispin turned to Wynchecombe. ‘Did you not tell them?’

  ‘At the time, it seemed the least of it.’

  ‘I am very much afraid it is the heart of it.’

  ‘That woman! She did it.’

  ‘No. I had only just left her. She didn’t know where it was hidden. She didn’t have time to get here before me. And could never have …’ Crispin paused. He had been about to say that she couldn’t have gotten into the cloister. But that was not true, for she had done so before.

  ‘My Lord Abbot, call in Brother Rodney Beaton.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Brother Rodney walked slowly into the abbot’s chamber and stood. His cowl covered his face, shadowing his downturned eyes. Crispin wanted to slap it back off his face, to look at him squarely, but he didn’t think Abbot William would approve.

  While the sheriffs were busy with the arrival of the coroner, Crispin took the opportunity to question the monk. ‘You allowed Katherine Pyke into this monastery,’ he said in a low growl.

  ‘I know of no Katherine Pyke,’ he said, never looking directly at Crispin.

  ‘Katherine Woodleigh, then. She goes by many names.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Did you let her in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She … she asked for help most piteously.’

  ‘I’m certain she did. At first. And then she wormed her way into your heart, didn’t she? What did she want?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re lying. And here is the thing of it, brother. Do you see yon sheriffs? If I let them at you, they will take you back to Newgate where they will torture the answers out of you. They won’t be polite and ask. They will simply bring out the red-hot brands, the screws to bore into your toes. Shall I let them … or will you talk to me?’

  His lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He looked at Crispin and whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why was she here?’

  ‘I … I hired her.’

  ‘You hired her? Forgive me, brother, but are not all monks to give up their worldly possessions?’

  ‘In a fashion. But Abbot Nicholas had let me keep my family jewels – the rings and such. I have them still. I hired her, or the person I thought I was hiring.’

  ‘To what end?’

  The tears fell freely down his pale cheeks. His mouth worked but no sound emerged. He licked his lips and tried again. ‘To steal the relic of Hailes.’

  ‘You hired a thief.’

  ‘She said she w
as a thief. I did not believe her at first. And then she stole something from the abbot to prove it to me.’

  ‘Do I want to know what that is?’

  ‘I made her return it.’

  ‘How noble. Why did you want the relic of Hailes?’

  ‘Because … the abbey should be the place of pilgrims, not that wretched Cistercian house in the wilderness. Why should they be celebrated? This is Westminster!’

  ‘And for this, you would kill?’

  His reddened eyes widened. The tears grew to great crystals before they spilled from his eyes. ‘No! I never killed.’

  ‘And yet Brother James is dead.’

  ‘I never said anyone should be harmed in this. That is not what I’ve paid for!’

  ‘But pay you will. You caused the death of Brother James as clearly as if you cracked his head open yourself.’

  ‘No! NO!’

  The sheriffs turned at the monk’s sharp denial. They looked at one another and excused themselves from the coroner to approach.

  ‘What have we here, Guest?’ asked Walcote.

  ‘The villain behind all of these events, Lord Sheriff. Brother Rodney here hired our thief to steal the Holy Blood of Hailes and caused those events to unfold.’

  ‘He murdered the monk.’

  ‘No. Or so he claims.’

  ‘But he is guilty of a conspiracy,’ said Wynchecombe. ‘And what the devil? Why is it that a monk has the wherewithal to hire anybody?’

  ‘You must know, my lord,’ offered Crispin, ‘that a clever man can get around any oath he swears. At least, he can appear to get around it. God is never fooled, after all.’

  ‘I should slap you for that, Guest.’

  ‘I shouldn’t try it, my lord,’ said Crispin in a low voice.

  Simon seemed taken aback. ‘You’ve changed. You don’t fear me as you did.’

  ‘I feared your office. I’ve learned a lot since then.’

  Wynchecombe narrowed his eyes and scowled. ‘So you have. Then what of this?’ He gestured toward the monk.

  ‘He did not kill Brother James.’

  ‘You are quick to believe these criminals, Guest.’

  ‘I have a sense of them. I generally know when someone is lying to me.’

  ‘Aren’t you the miracle. Well, brother. Should I believe you, too?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ he said urgently. ‘It is as Master Guest has said. I killed no one. I only hired that woman to steal for me.’

  ‘For the greater glory of Westminster,’ added Crispin.

  ‘What nonsense!’ Wynchecombe glanced at Jack. ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘I believe Master Crispin … whatever he says.’

  ‘Somehow I knew you would say that.’

  Crispin loured over the weeping monk. ‘Where is the relic now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He was murdered while guarding it and you don’t know where it’s gone?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘My lord,’ said Crispin, turning to Wynchecombe, ‘if for nothing else, he is still guilty of the theft from Hailes. He must be taken to Newgate.’

  ‘Oh, he will be. Loveney! Walcote! Here is your prisoner. Though as Master Guest here vouchsafes, he is only a conspirator, not a murderer.’

  Loveney approached and looked the monk over. The man was trembling now. ‘Oh? We’ll see about that.’

  ‘I swear, my lords! I never sought to harm anyone!’

  Crispin grasped his arm. ‘Do you have an accomplice? Someone who has no such qualms?’

  ‘No, no. Just the woman. God help me. She was … more than I expected.’

  ‘And quite more than you bargained for.’

  The sheriffs signaled to their bailiffs to take the monk away. Crispin thought Abbot William would put up a fight about it, but he stood silent and stiff in the deepening shadows. The bell had rung a while ago for Vespers and still the abbot had not quit the scene. Crispin had seen other abbots in similar circumstances proceed with the Divine Office even as corpses cooled around them. But not this abbot.

  Crispin wished the abbot could be more helpful. In the end, he and Jack simply watched the three sheriffs spirit the monk away – watched him from the abbot’s window as he bent over and wept as they bound his hands and trailed him behind their horses in the courtyard.

  The monks were bearing the dead Cistercian on a bier and carrying him away, while others cleaned the paving stones of his blood and brains.

  The abbot remained at the window until the sounds of horses receded away into the noises of Westminster shutting down for the night. He turned toward Crispin, his face unreadable. ‘What now, Master Guest?’

  Indeed. What now?

  ‘Master Crispin,’ said Jack in hushed tones, stealing glances at the abbot. ‘I’m confused. There are too many monks in this pie.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re right. There are altogether too many monks to consider. We know that Brother Fulk killed Brother Ralph and tried to blame Wynchecombe for it with his stolen knife. And we know that Brother Rodney hired Kat to steal the relic, starting this whole chain of events in the first place. But we don’t know who killed Brother Edwin in the cloister of Hailes and we don’t know who killed Brother James in Abbot William’s chamber.’

  ‘I’ve a mind to think it is that Pyke woman.’

  ‘The timeline is too dear. I cannot see her having the time to kill Brother James.’

  ‘Maybe she hired someone to. If it looked like the hunters were closing in to get rid of any dangling threads … I mean, why else would you think she was innocent—’ Jack studied him a little too closely. ‘God’s blood, master! You didn’t!’

  ‘Didn’t what?’

  ‘You lay with her, didn’t you? That’s how you know she couldn’t have been here so fast.’

  ‘I … might have.’

  Jack threw up his arms.

  ‘Now look, Tucker. I will not have you judging me like this.’

  ‘I’m not judging you, Master Crispin. I’m just … Well. Sometimes I despair of you.’

  ‘Oh, you have gone smug since you’ve gotten betrothed.’

  ‘It isn’t that. Well … perhaps a little. You should get yourself a regular woman, sir. It tames a man. In a good way.’

  ‘I’m not so sure of that.’

  ‘Anyway, we must get back to the problem. She must be arrested for her part in it. Maybe she can tell us more about Brother Rodney, if she had beguiled him enough to kill. Unless you do believe him.’

  ‘I’m afraid I do. And you are right, of course. I’m letting my better judgment fall to the wayside again because of some damned woman.’

  ‘You can’t help it, sir. There are just some men who are led more by their cods than by their heads.’

  Crispin slowly turned his head to stare at his apprentice. ‘What did you just say to me?’

  ‘I don’t blame you, sir. I was foolish like that once or twice.’

  ‘I can’t believe my ears.’

  ‘It’s the taming, sir. It makes a man think.’

  Crispin pressed his fists into his hips. ‘It does, does it?’

  ‘Aye, sir. You’ll see. When Isabel comes to live with us, you’ll be tamed, too.’

  Good God. He hadn’t thought of that. Was he to be tormented for the rest of his life by a slip of a girl, half his age? And his apprentice? How was it to be borne?

  ‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Should we go, sir? Should we go and apprehend this Katherine Pyke?’

  ‘Yes.’ Anything to get out of here.

  TWENTY-THREE

  They didn’t hurry, even as the lingering light faded and failed to paint the sides of the houses and shops down row on row of Westminster’s streets and when they got to London’s gates. Heading to the Unicorn, Crispin expected that Kat would have fled. I certainly would have. And if she had, he did not know where to go from there. Did he believe Wynchecombe? Well, it was plain he hadn’t killed Brother Ralph, but h
ad he killed Brother Edwin back in Hailes? And was Crispin too quick to entertain the fact that Kat couldn’t have gotten to Westminster before him? She could have. He knew that now. She was nimble and clever. She could have done it. Hell, the woman seemed capable of anything.

  ‘Jack,’ he said carefully before slowing to a stop.

  Jack stopped with him, standing under the eaves of a blacksmith’s. The shop was shuttered but it felt warm there, as if the furnace was still in front of them. ‘Aye, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps … my judgment where the woman is concerned is … compromised.’

  Jack folded his arms over his chest. ‘Well, then.’

  ‘I didn’t think her capable of getting to Westminster before me, but now I see how I could have been terribly wrong.’ He gestured toward the Unicorn ahead of them. ‘I think that maybe you should go up and see if she is there.’

  ‘Me, sir? Alone?’

  ‘Yes. You seem incapable of being charmed.’

  Jack pulled tightly at his tunic to straighten it and squared his shoulders, as if he was marching off to war. ‘Aye, sir.’ He stalked forward over the mud and passed through to the inn yard.

  Crispin sighed, cursing himself. What a fool. And the damnable thing of it was it wasn’t the first time. Maybe there was something to this celibacy that clerics were supposed to be doing. No women meant less confusion. He leaned his shoulder into the wall and grumbled. He never seemed to learn this lesson. But dammit. Women were … pleasant and soft and most enticing. He looked around to the empty streets darkening with the night and adjusted himself. Maybe he did think too much with his cod.

  Something caught the corner of his eye. A movement up on the inn’s roof. He turned and squinted into the gloom. Definitely a figure up there. And oddly, it looked like a woman with hiked-up skirts …

  ‘Kat!’ He hurried to follow below but she was making good speed up there. ‘Damn the woman!’ He had to join her or he would soon lose her. She had already leapt like a deer to another roof. He searched for a place to climb. The London houses and shops shouldered one another, sometimes holding the other up. It was as if they were one continuous roof. But to climb would take some means.